Page 11 of Alien’s Retrieved Mate

He watched me eat with an expression I couldn't read. Then he ate one of the bars himself. In three bites. Without any visible reaction.

"How." I pointed at the empty wrapper and then at my face, pulling an expression of exaggerated disgust. Then I pointed at his face, which was completely neutral. "How do you eat that with no reaction? Are your taste buds dead?"

His head tilted slightly. He said something in his language, short and measured, the mechanical quality less pronounced without the helmet. His voice was — okay, fine. His voice was deep and smooth and had a slight resonant quality to it, like there were harmonics underneath that human vocal cords couldn't produce. Which made sense because he was an alien.

"Great chat. Very informative." I leaned back against a tree and closed my eyes for a second. My body was screaming for sleep. Every muscle ached. But the sun — suns, plural? everything out here cast two faint, slightly offset shadows, so apparently even daylight came in pairs on this planet — was still above the canopy and we were presumably still being hunted by space lizard slavers, so napping was off the table.

I opened my eyes. He was doing something with his damaged helmet, pulling components out, examining them, reconnecting things. Some kind of repair work. I watched his hands. Five long fingers on each, broad palms, dark nails cut close, careful movements, total focus. He handled the small components with a delicacy that surprised me given how strong I knew he was.

The glow lines on his forearms were dim while he worked. Focused on the task. I wondered if they were emotion-based — like blushing, maybe? They flared when I was close and dimmed when I wasn't.

I scooted three feet closer. Casually. Just to get a better look at what he was doing with the helmet.

His markings brightened.

I scooted back. They dimmed.

Forward. Brighter.

Back. Dimmer.

Oh. Oh that was VERY interesting.

I grinned and he looked up and caught me mid-grin. His markings flared and he slapped his forearm like he was swatting a mosquito, then turned his back to me and returned to the helmet repairs.

I filed this information away in a rapidly growing folder labeled "Things I Don't Understand But Am Deeply Invested In" and leaned back against the tree.

The day, if this planet had the same day-night cycle as Earth, which it probably didn't, eventually wound down. The lavender sky deepened to purple through the canopy gaps, and the temperature dropped enough that I was grateful for the jungle humidity holding some warmth close.

And then the jungle lit up.

It happened gradually. First, small dots of light along the tree trunks — soft blue and green, like someone had strung fairy lights through the bark. Then the larger plants started glowing. Huge broad leaves radiating a gentle turquoise. Vines pulsing with slow waves of amber light like a heartbeat. The stream caught and reflected everything until the whole clearing was bathed in soft, shifting color.

I stood up without realizing I was doing it. My breath caught. My eyes burned and this time it wasn't because I was fighting tears.

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I turned in a slow circle, my mouth open, taking in every impossible detail. A cluster of what might have been flowers glowed deep violet, opening in the darkness to release tiny motes of light that floated up like dandelion seeds made of stars. The tree canopy above was a constellation of green and blue pinpoints. The air shimmered.

"Oh," I breathed. Just that. Just oh.

I'd spent every student dig and volunteer season I could scrape together studying what ancient humans had built. I'd stood in tombs in Egypt, at the base of pyramids in Mexico, in underground cities in Turkey — always as the field-school kid or the one paying to be there, but I'd stood in them. I'd felt wonder before. Awe at what people could create.

This was something else. This was a planet being alive. Being beautiful just because it was. Not built, not designed, just existing. Glowing in the dark because that's what it did.

For about thirty seconds, I forgot that I'd been abducted by aliens. I forgot that I was stranded on a planet I couldn't name with a man I couldn't talk to while slave traders might be tracking me through space. I forgot everything except the light.

I turned around and the alien, my alien, Glow Stick, whatever his name was, was watching me. Not the jungle. Me.

His markings were glowing steady and bright, matching the forest around him, and his violet eyes reflected the bioluminescence like mirrors. His expression was one I hadn't seen before. It wasn't neutral. It wasn't tactical. It was something softer, something unguarded, there and gone so fast I almost missed it.

Then he looked away, said something quiet I couldn't understand, and started setting up what I assumed was a camp for the night.

I watched him for a moment longer. Then I watched the jungle glow and pulse around me like a living heartbeat.

I was still terrified. I was still stranded. I was still completely, hopelessly lost on an alien world.

But just for a second, in all that light, it didn't feel as dark as it should have.