Page 74 of I Punched an Alien and Now We’re in Couples Therapy

“You know we don’t have a choice,” Blair reasoned. “I know you two aren’t exactly friends—”

“Wild understatement—”

She cut in. “But they can help us. He can help us. And he’s got just as much reason to hate them as we do.”

I laughed bitterly. “He hates them. He loathes me.”

Memories flooded back from years I’d thought my mind had long buried. Lokbaatar standing at the top of the dam all those years ago. How the bastard waved just before a bomb obliterated the bottom half, causing the murky waters to flood Tynfo City. Revenge for the skyships I’d used to set his city ablaze the year prior. The Broken Plains War had been going on for generations, but we made it personal.

We traded destruction like drunken, angry gods. My uncle’s skull was his goblet, his father’s spine made up the dice of my hulloran board.

Even the end of our world and the beginning of a new one wasn’t enough to stop it. In this new world, I was still the king of Dulba, and in order to unite the scattered bands of what remained of our people, I needed every clan to bend the knee. Something the Singing Arrows would never do so long as Lok lived.

Most recently, I’d poisoned his armor and taken his own Zhali match hostage, and she ended up hurt because of it. By all rights, he should have mounted my head above his mantel.

And now I needed to beg for his help.

“Don’t think for a second he’ll help us just because he also hates the Biwban. He’ll want something in return. He always wants something.”

She sat up, drawing me with her. “You said before that you wanted to unite the Sankado under one banner. That it was the only way for your people to survive in this new world. Can you really make that future a reality if you two can never come to some kind of agreement?” She placed the feather in my hand. “You’ve already tried killing each other again and again. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the definition of insanity, but fighting the same guy over and over to no avail is pretty damn close to it.”

I stared down at the communicator; its metal bristles poked into my palm as I resisted the urge to crush it. Lokbaatar and I had stolen much from each other through the years, but none of it compared to the destruction the Biwban had caused. They needed to pay for their crimes against us, and justice was hardly ever won easily.

“They destroyed our world,” I muttered, not to Blair, not to anyone—just to the silence. “Rounded us up like animals and dropped us on some cheap hack job of a planet. And now the only person who could aid my vengeance is the same bastard I’d spent most of my life trying to kill.”

Blair placed a hand on my cheek. “It’s our vengeance. That’s reason enough for him to help you.”

Our vengeance.

Yes. That he would understand.

I strummed my hand across the side of the feather and called the bastard.

It wasn’t the general’s voice who answered, but a woman’s—soft-spoken, with the mildest lilt of an accent I couldn’t recognize. She tilted her head at the sight of me. “Osid?” Concerned marred her features. “Where’s Blair?”

I studied her face. Ah, Lok’s wife. Of course. Her image flickered on the screen, one hand was covered in mud, while the other held a small hand shovel. A blue wide-brimmed hat covered most of her wild red hair, yet I could still make out a faint pale scar just above her ear—no doubt a remnant of Blair’s pistol. The memory of that day and the hand I played in it made my skin itch.

I offered her the closest approximation of a smile. “Ah, Dory. Glad to see you are well.”

She didn’t return it. “Uh-huh. Where’s Blair, is she safe?”

“Here I am!” Blair called over my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. But we need to talk to your man, Lok. Well, Sol too, really, since we’ll need a lawyer. Are they around?”

Confusion laced Dory’s voice as she asked, “What would you need a lawyer for? Don’t tell me you burned down that tower or something.”

“Not yet,” replied Blair with a singsong lilt.

A glimpse of a purple arm moved in front of Dory, and Lokbaatar’s horned silhouette filled the communicator screen. A sack of sapling plants rested near his side, and his arms were covered in dirt, much like his wife’s.

“Osid Nanphrey,” he purred, drawing out my name like a raptor toying with its prey before it struck. “Bold of you to be showing up on my wife’s communicator after our last exchange of…diplomatic courtesies.”

Dory’s hand pushed lightly at his chest. “Be nice,” she whispered.

His gaze fell to her and softened the tiniest fraction, then it was gone. “Well, did you call to deliver your next ransom note, or did you just miss the taste of my fist?”

Arrogant son of a—

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and exhaled. “I’m calling because I need your help.”