“You don’t get to kill that asshole on my watch,” I scream at the rooster, rooting around next to me until my hand closes over exactly what I hoped it would—a massive rock.
Zan’s fending off the attack as best he can, but thick, viscous blood trickles down the tough draegon hide on his tail.
“Pick on someone your own size!” I scream at the rooster.
That manages at least to get his attention, which is really all I wanted. I throw the rock with all my might and hold my breath as it whizzes through the air—and stops, falling just short of the rooster.
Well. Turns out being picked last for softball and kickball and all sports in school did, in fact, come back to bite me in the ass.
I just didn’t expect the bite to be taken by an alien chicken.
My eyes dart around desperately as I look for another rock, a branch, anything that will let me help get Zan out of reach of the rooster. Because as much as that alien drives me crazy, he is my alien. He is my partner, and I might be a bitch, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him get hurt.
I don’t want anyone to get hurt.
My stomach growls again. I’m freaking famished. I don’t think I truly understood that word until this moment. The amount of meat on a bird that size would be more than enough for both Zan and me, and I lick my lips at the thought of it. It’s a good thing Ken No Privates hasn’t figured out one-to-one confessionals for his psychotic reality TV show, because I’m not sure that’s something I’d like to admit out loud on camera.
The rooster raises its head, starting to crow again. “Coc?—”
Without warning, the rooster keels over completely, the dust its fellow chicken has uncovered flying up in a cloud that makes me cough and cover my eyes.
Zan stands up gingerly, not even taking a second to look at his tail and assess the damage before advancing on the prone form of the megafauna rooster.
“You killed it.” He glances over one shoulder at me, reevaluating me.
“No, I didn’t.” I stand up, too shaky, feeling still barely in my foot, spikes of pain from the asleep limb shooting up all the way to my hip as I limp forward to where Zan is inspecting the rooster.
“It’s dead,” he assures me. “You’ve done well, little warrior human.”
“I’m not a warrior. And how did I kill it? That shouldn’t have done that.” Truly, one more surreal, awful moment in a sea of surreal and awful moments.
I shudder. “Thanks for the new nightmare fuel, Ken.”
Zan pokes it, then bends over, placing an ear on the animal’s still chest. “I think you gave it a heart attack.”
“Huh.” I wrinkle my nose.
“You fought bravely.” He smiles. “Now about that cock you wanted…” He starts to tug down the waistband of his pants with a wicked smile. And despite the fact our lives were just in peril, it’s easy to see that hasn’t affected his very apparent need for me.
“Absolutely not. Put it away,” I say. Then I point at the bird. “That’s a rooster. A cock. Same thing.” I shake my head. "I wasn’t talking about you.” Placing my hands on my hips, I sigh deeply. “I want to eat it for dinner,” I tell him, enunciating each word carefully, stabbing a finger like a dagger at the prone bird.
The hen ignores us, bawking quietly as she continues to dust bathe serenely. It feels slightly wrong to be talking about eating her poor friend in front of her, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“Alas,” Zan says sadly, shaking his head. “I knew your request was too good to be true.”
I stamp my foot in pure exasperation. “I’m so hungry,” I tell him, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you think we can cook the rooster?”
I don’t know if Ken gives out bonus points for not picking fights with your fucking partner, but if he did, I’d be simply awash in them right now for my complete and utter control of myself in this situation. I have no idea how Ken is running any of this.
I’m not sure Ken knows, either.
For a game show, we sure as shit haven’t been given any rules on how to win.
Or any rules at the fuck all.
I am very maturely choosing not to fight with Zan, and frankly I should win the entire Mated and Afraid game just for not arguing with him in this very moment.
“Are you sure it had a heart attack?” I ask, still side-eyeing the rooster.
