Page 74 of Evan and the Alpha

“Uh,” I start, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me to answer that question.

He sighs like he can’t believe it. “I thought I would tell you, like … just in case they hadn’t, y’know, actually run that plan by you.”

I frown. “No, they hadn’t mentioned it.” I was pretty sure Vince was aware I wasn’t on speaking terms with most of my family members. “So, what, they’re planning to kidnap me?”

Vince grimaces. “Guess so,” he agrees.

I feel my lip curl up in a snarl. “They’ll have to get past Sobek first.”

Vince shakes his head. “You need to stop seeing Min.”

“What? Why—”

“Because she schedules your appointments in the ship’s computer and Dad and Scott can access those files, so they can see when you’re gonna be on board and for how long. They can just make sure they prep, then take off while you’re on board.”

He knocks his knuckles into the side of my head and adds, “Dummy.”

“Oh.” I feel pretty stupid. I stare blankly at the bustling kroakka making their way around the square, hurrying here and there through the city streets. I look at my brother. “Why are you telling me?”

Vince looks really guilty for a second. Then he confesses, “I don’t want to go either.”

“Oh.” Me, I get, but what the heck would Vince want to stay here for? Not like the planet is super romantic or inspiring for art and paintings. Not like the kroakka are really into art.

“Yeah,” he mutters, then kicks at some sand near our feet. “You got any ideas about how to convince them not to?”

I shake my head. “Vince, I can’t convince them I didn’t fall and hit my head. They think I’ve lost it.”

We both glance down at my belly. I let my brows tent. “And, y’know? Sometimes I wonder too. But, like … this is real and happening, so how crazy can I be?”

Vince doesn’t reply. I glance up at him, but he’s turned his head away so I can’t get a clear read on his expression. I lay my hand over my belly again and drop my gaze. “Like, I could see if I was insisting on all this stuff, like that I was suddenly … y’know … pregnant or that I was changing or whatever, but it’s really happening. So why’s the rest of it so hard to believe?”

“Dunno,” Vince says glumly. He claps my shoulder. “Okay. I gotta go.”

“Huh?” I look up at him as he rises to his feet, but he’s ignoring me. He jams his hands in his pockets and walks off, staring into the crowd. “Hey!” I call after him, but he just keeps walking, like a man possessed or something.

Weird.

I look down at the remainder of my lunch—mostly empty skewers, a couple of hunks of meat on a bright green leaf, resting across my lap. My stomach twists, almost violently, and I’m more than done with food. I push to my feet and dump the remains—leaf, skewers, and all—into the nearest basket. The kroakka aren’t much for farming, but they do collect the waste of the stuff in the cities and compost it. Or that’s what Ge-Ro told me, at least. It’s a bit surprising: the big, burly guy is all into horticulture and shit. I didn’t even know they had plants here, but apparently they do and the kroakka even farm some … melons or something. And trees, big palm-like things, for shade. The kroakka can’t thermoregulate like we can, so they need the sun to warm up, but they also need shade and water and the like to cool down.

I think again about my parents calling Sobek a monster. The kroakka aren’t monsters, not at all. Sure, they look like crocodiles or whatever and they have a warrior culture, but it’s not like they’re just out here killing people for no reason.

They have music. And as much as they’re not really into art—or not like we are, anyway—they do have a writing system and poets (Yafir is into poetry, which … does not surprise me), and Ge-Ro was telling me about the different musical instruments they have.

They’re no more monsters than human beings are. I kick at a pebble as I stalk back to our house. I’m huffing and puffing by the time I get to the top of the stairs, and I collapse onto one of the pillows at the table in the common room. Sweat’s trickling down my forehead. It’s too hot out there.

I haven’t been flopped there a minute when someone else bustles in. I crack open an eye to see Darwin, who stops dead in the doorway, then blanches. “Evan!” he cries, then clamps a hand on his hat. “I thought you had an appointment with Min.”

“I did.” I frown at him. “But that was earlier. It’s too hot to be out there, so I came back.”

Darwin settles down at the table, but he seems … I dunno, fidgety. Nervous or something. I frown at him. “It is rather warm out there,” he mumbles, then glances over his shoulder.

I push up to my elbows, then sit up. “So, what’s going on with you?” I ask. “I thought you were doing, like, microbe testing in the water still.”

Darwin’s gaze darts around. Oh, yeah. He’s nervous as sin. The heck is he trying to hide from me? I lean over the table.

“Yes, um, well. It’s really quite fascinating. It doesn’t make any sense—there don’t seem to be any microbes at all, which begs the question of how life could evolve without maintaining a microscopic level of—”

“Hey, Darwin!”