16. THALIA

The translator said Cook, but my ears heard soft trilling.

Standing about ten feet away inside the mouth of the tunnel was a space mostly-cockroach. It had the glossy black body composed of leathery plates polished to a patent shine. It had two sets of four perpendicular legs that ended in sharp points that defied explanation as to how they bore weight. Two long feelers jutted from an oblong head set with a line of glossy eyes and mandibles covering a small mouth. The body was in three segments, and right now, it stood upright, bent between the third and second segment, while the head was its own segment. In that position, they were just about my height. Perhaps taller.

There were intricate carvings adorning the body plates, and there were holes—like piercing holes—on the arrangement of fine plates around the mandibles and crown of the head.

And the space-bug was miffed. A couple of folks peered from the main concourse practically dancing around they’re in trouble, new kid’s in trouble.

Ahane lifted me away from his body and put me down on my own two feet.

Space-Bug’s legs moved in a terrifying sequence of tap tap tap tap mincing steps that propelled them both slower and faster than you’d expect with exactly no other motion of the body.

Space-Bug swept its feelers in Ahane’s direction. There was an odd grace to the movement. Far more graceful than the space-bug dancer. Space-Bug was not happy.

Ahane turned his attention towards me. “This is the Site Master.”

I caught myself before I said anything in English, kept my head tilted down to hide my face, and quickly put my breather back on.

The Site Master”s feelers swayed once more, the very top pair of legs rotating around each other over and over. “Your private affairs are private, Cook.”

The Site Master”s language was a soft summer-evening bug trill.

The trilling became increasingly annoyed. “I do not tolerate this in public. There are designated areas. You, in fact, have such an area provided as part of your compensation. I also do not appreciate you lying to me that this is your assistant.”

“She is my assistant,” Ahane stated.

The top pair of rotating legs reversed. “You are here, Cook. And you intend to stay, do you not?”

Translation: play by my rules or end up homeless.

Ahane nodded once, scales churning with frustration and annoyance and, under all that, concern.

The concern seemed to mollify the Site Master slightly, which only pissed off Ahane even more. “Do you normally conceal that your ‘assistant,’” this was punctuated with an intricate dance of legs and feelers in a terrifying version of danger quotes, “is also your mate.”

The word hit Ahane so hard his scales washed to that intense frozen rose shade.

The Site Master”s level of aggravation and… offense… increased once he’d made the trill that translated as mate. And some of the lollygaggers also shared a collective the fuck and looked at Ahane with obvious disgust.

I poked my translator to try and get some more context, but it had hit a wall. Not surprising. The translators had been trained by the Humans who had been abducted, VHS tapes, and whatever other material of questionable quality and origin the Greys had sourced to train their AI. So as far as the translator was concerned, mate had the singular definition of “casual friend.”

The Site Master waved his feeler by Ahane’s ear. “You do not wear your trinket. Meet the minimum standards of conduct or take yourself elsewhere.”

Ahane brushed the feeler away.

The motion drew my eye to the blue-tinged octopus-headed Miniature Cthulhu-like guy who had sent that trill of panic through me. Peering at him from the shadows of my hood, he still made me quake on the inside.

Bounty hunter.

Maybe it was the bandoliers crossed six ways across his fish-inspired taproot chest. Maybe it was the creepy direct stare pinned right on me. Maybe it was the and what are you going to do about it aura he gave off.

We didn’t make eye contact, but he knew I was watching him.

I didn’t look away. Something told me not to look away.

He moved off, apparently satisfied I wasn’t who he was looking for.

But I could have been.

The Site Master concluded his stern stare-off with Ahane and tap-danced off.

Tap tap tap tap.

The Site Masterbeing pissed that we were doing naughty things in public when he charged for non-public spaces to do naughty things was one thing, but something about this mate business had really pissed him off.

It’d pissed most everyone off. Or, in the very least, they’d grasped their collective pearls over it.

But it also seemed to have sent the bounty hunter on his way.

Ahane paced back and forth in the dining room while I took off my assorted layers. The gloves sucked, but after what had just happened with the Site Master, the cloak was my newest favorite fashion. High fantasy was in this autumn. Or whatever season it was.

Now that the moment was over, the crash into trauma was incoming. He was pulling me deeper and deeper, my contaminated memories swinging from the ledges and grips that had been carved and bolted into my brain.

“Ahane.”

He spun towards me. “Do not apologize.”

I licked my lips. “Whatever this mate thing is, you know I’m not angry, right? Let them think whatever they’re going to think.”

His scales flushed yellow-tinged at the base, giving the winter rose a fungal stain.

My need and want braided itself with clammy chicken fingers. I had to get away from it.

Time for a wild guess about the ugly color of his scales. “…I enjoyed it.”

He yanked his attention to me.

I wanted to die of mortification. But between the chicken fingers holding the worst parts of my mind open and the strange craving that suffused my entire body, I wasn’t allowed to die. No, my body wanted to stay very much on this plane of existence until this matter had been resolved.

“You enjoyed the Site Master”s chastisement,” Ahane stated.

If I had to die from abject mortification, I was going to tell the folks on the other side a good story about how it happened.

I tossed my breather down on the counter, marched across the floor, and right up to Ahane. He was too tall for a pounce. I made a beckoning motion with one finger. “Come down here.”

He bent.

I kissed him.

You see, I had escaped some Bad Aliens with another Alien and without getting into it, I decided that kissing him was a good idea and it was not a good idea, and that’s how I died of embarrassment.

Except Ahane was kissing me back.

Fuck.

It was so good. It was as good as that hot bath. It was maybe even better.

I need this.

He caught my jaw in one large hand and pressed on the corner of my lips, prying us apart. He brushed his talon along my jaw. My nerves reacted, and I gasped and leaned into his hand. Then his tail slid behind my ankle and up my calf.

It brushed over the wounds there and a toxic jolt hit behind my eyes and hammered some tears out.

I can’t/I need this.

“You’re afraid,” he said softly. “You don’t owe me completion.”

“No.” I gulped, floundering, confused, wracked. “I want to. Unless you don’t want to let me.”

The tiny scales on the outer corners of his eyes twitched upward while his pupils elongated at the tips and widened in the center.

Was he about to eat me?

Gotta have that story ready.

“I am not sure what you intend or what I am about to let you do,” he slid his palm down my arm as his tail wrapped around my wrist, “but I will not refuse.”