Page 6 of Evan and the Alpha

3

Evan

Sobek wakes me up in the evening light, and we march on. We camp when the suns are fully set, when the stars come out. The temperature drops something awful, and my sunburn stings. I’m sweating and shivering by turns.

The kroakka, it seems, can’t handle the cold. The lower the temperature drops, the slower they move. By the time they get camp set up, they’re all like snails, barely inching along. They sit around the fire, while I disappear into the big tent and curl up under the furs, trying to find temperature equilibrium.

Sobek frowns at me when he steps into the tent, holding what looks like a plate, piled high with roasted meat. I didn’t even know they killed something. I didn’t even know there was anything out here to kill.

Then again, I hadn’t realized there are crocodile aliens on the planet, so what the hell do I know?

More importantly: do I care? My eyes fall to Sobek’s plate.No, I think, I don’t care what they killed or when they did it or anything. All that matters is that there is food.

I try to think of the last time I ate something. I think it might have been on the first day after I was captured, but everything is a bit … blurry.

At any rate, I can’t remember the last time I had real food—not those stupid capsules or freeze-dried peas or something.

I look up at Sobek, who looks back at me with surprise. “Are you … hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I don’t know why that would be surprising. Anybody who hasn’t eaten in two or three days would probably be hungry. Right?

Sobek glances at his plate. Then he looks back at me. “Sun spirits don’t need food.”

“I told you, I’m not a sun spirit.” As if agreeing, my stomach growls loudly. “And I do need food, or I’ll starve.”

Sobek glances down at his plate again. Then he points. “There is plenty by the fire.”

I look at the tent flaps, weighing my desire for a meal with my desire to venture out in the cold desert night. I shudder; nope, no way.

I glance hopefully at Sobek. “You could … share?” I ask.

He has to know what sharing is, right? The kroakka seem to live (and maybe hunt) in communal groups, so they have to share sometimes. Have to.

Sobek seems affronted. “What?” I ask, sitting up, draping the intricately woven blanket around my shoulders. It’s a bit heavy and scratchy, but I like this one best.

Sobek shakes his head. “That is improper,” he says.

“Improper? How’s it improper to feed a guest?” I drift closer to him, huddling under the blanket.

Sobek huffs in irritation. “First,” he says, “you are not a guest.” He tugs at the fringes of the blanket. “Second, you are acting like you are my omega.”

I frown up at him. He holds my gaze. Then he sighs in exasperation. “An omega only eats from his alpha’splate. You wish to be fed from my plate?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” I grumble. I don’t want to go out in the cold to get my own, not when there’s enough here for the both of us.

Sobek catches the underside of my chin, tilting my head back; his claws pinch but don’t break the skin. “You really want that?” he asks, his voice dropping to a hissing whisper. “Is that your game? You really want to be mine so badly, little omega?”

I pull away, wincing as his claws rake over my skin. “No,” I spit. “I don’t want to be yours. I just …”

I glare at him for a moment more, then sigh in defeat. “It’s not weird,” I say, “for my people. We share food all the time. With friends and family. It doesn’t have to be some … weird … ownership thing.”

Sobek considers me for a long moment. Then he looks away. “No,” he says firmly. “You can go get your own.”

I take another step toward him. “Please?” I know I’m whining, but I don’t care. “It’s not like anyone else has to know.” I practically wriggle in front of him, squeezing myself between him and the tiny, portable table he’s set the food on. “It can be our secret.”

I tilt my head back. He angles his head down. Our eyes meet. Is it my imagination or does Sobek look … almost embarrassed?

“Fine,” he mutters. He drums his claws on the tabletop as I help myself to the heaping plate. “You cannot tell anyone. They’ll think we’re bonded.”