Page 13 of Evan and the Alpha

“Why?” I ask. It’s less angry than I want—almost hurt. God, I sound pathetic.

Sobek huffs. “Why? Perhaps because you are disobedient, stubborn, annoying, irritating, whiny, and weak.”

He says the last word like it disgusts him. Maybe it does. I haven’t seen a lot of kroakka culture, but strength seems like something they’d value.

I lower my head and turn back to the tailor. I can feel tears edging into my eyes, burning at the corners of them, but crying would only prove him right. That I am weak. I screw my eyes shut and try to force the tears away. I’m dehydrated enough; there’s never enough water to drink around here. I don’t need to cry over some weirdo alien not returning the feelings I think I might have for him.

Finally, the tailor lets me down off the stool. I almost melt with gratitude as I’m allowed to change back into my clothes—the last vestiges of Earth I have with me, I realize. They’re dusty and worn—I think there are some holes starting—and they don’t even smell like home anymore, but they’re familiar.

Sobek rises to his feet. “When will that be ready?” he asks the tailor, who waves a clawed hand in dismissal.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” he assures us, then disappears into the back room.

Sobek pauses to admire some of the jeweled belts and bangles. He glances at me when I come to stand beside him. “Pick something you like,” he says. His gaze darts away again. “Consider it a parting gift.”

“You’re really gonna let me go, huh? Even after what your dad said?” I can’t even raise my voice, can’t find any anger anywhere. Just hurt.

Sobek glances at me again, then harrumphs. He looks away. I close my eyes; desperation fills me. I want to beg him to keep me. I don’t want to go.

His hand is cold, but his fingers are gentle. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he was wiping the tears away. “See?” he says. “I have hurt you again. We are not compatible. This is for the best.”

I stare at him, long and hard. I want to scream and shout, but there’s nothing. Just that overwhelming hurt. I press my lips together, try to pull myself back together.

He’s right. I’m just not sure anyone else here will be better. I’m scared they’ll be worse.

***

The market is crowded and dusty. Hot. Too hot. The suns burn down on us, and I’m worried about my skin. I’m draped in the breezy garment—I can’t quite call it a dress, but it’s definitely not shorts and a tee either—and I’m showing a lot more skin. My midriff is bare, as are my arms and my feet. The rest of me is covered, but the fabric’s so thin, I’m not sure it’s doing much at all to keep the sun away from my skin.

Or roving eyes away from the rest of me.

Early this morning, Sobek traded the rope for a gold chain. I also have gold chains draped around my waist, sashing the garment I’m wearing, and golden bangles around my wrists and my ankles. I really hope the avid looks of the alphas at the market are for the jewels—not for me.

I know that’s not the case, but I’m going to have a panic attack if I think about what’s going to happen. I am not okay with this. At all.

I glance at Sobek again. I’m quite literally on a pedestal, supposed to stand here and, I don’t know, look demure or something? Put up with a bunch of aliens looking at me like I’m a piece of meat or something. I hate it.

Sobek is almost hidden in the shadows of a thick canopy overhanging one of the buildings. He’s leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Waiting.

He’s not going to lift a finger to help me.

Claws graze my hip, and I jump back, almost tumbling off the pedestal. A couple of kroakka laugh; one of them still has his hand raised. They stare at me, both of them smiling wide.

“Hands off the goods,” Sobek calls from the shadows. “Don’t touch unless you want to buy.”

“How else are we supposed to know he’s real?” one of them asks.

“You say he’s a sun spirit,” the other chimes in, as if on cue.

There’s a tiny placard somewhere, with some squiggles I can’t read. It must tell them something.

Handsy prods at me again. I glance back at Sobek, then try to swallow the flutter of hope when I see just how angry he looks.

Only because I’m property, I remind myself. Only because he wants top dollar—or … well, whatever they use as currency around here.

“Are you sure he’s a sun spirit?” Handsy’s friend asks.

“Of course,” Sobek huffs.