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Now I just feel like an even bigger arse. “But yes, if you’re thinking along the lines of making me wear pink ruffles and putting a pet collar on me and walking me around the station, I’d do that for you.” I pause, stroking her cheek, and then add in a tight voice, “I’d do anything for you, okay?”
I’m going to throw up. I don’t like this vulnerable, nervous feeling. The feel of letting someone else know that they can pierce my shell. Hate it. Hate it lots.
But Dora graces me with a little smile and rubs her cheek against my hand. “All right. Head massage, and then training…but let’s tell Jamef where we’re going first.”
Oh, goody. So he can see Dora’s swollen nose? I manage a smile. “Sure thing, fluffit.”
She gets to her feet and immediately snatches my hand, lacing my fingers through hers. With a sigh, she leans against my arm and clings to me, as if my touch makes her feel better. I pull her in for a hug, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, and do my best to ignore Yaahi’s smug look.
We head out of the room and down one of the short, confusing halls of the moon base. I’ve no idea where Jamef is, but I can hear the sound of Kaatir’s booming laughter somewhere in the distance, and I suspect our mate will be there.
Sure enough, three turns and two round, bubble-like rooms later, we find Jamef seated at a breakfast table with Kaatir. The older male is telling more stories, gesturing with a flat utensil as he slops jam onto a roll. Jamef is slumped in his chair, propping his head up with one hand and doing his best to not look bored out of his mind and failing utterly. Something tells me that not only does Kaatir not care if his captive audience is bored, but this is something that Jamef has endured before.
They both look over as we enter, and Jamef immediately jumps to his feet. “Dora! What happened to your face, sweetheart?”
I brace myself, waiting for accusing looks, but Dora just gives Jamef a chuckle and a rueful smile, moving forward into his arms. “Morning accident. It happens when your mates have horns and you do not. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
She’s acting like it was her fault and not mine? Oh, fluffit. I fight the urge to squeeze the kef out of her…in a good way.
Dora lets Jamef examine her nose while I wait awkwardly in the doorway. “We’re going back to the ship,” she says. “Bethiah wants to show me some training moves.”
Jamef shakes his head. “Can’t. They’re working on it as we speak. It’s not going to be livable for the next few days.” He turns towards old Kaatir. “Do you have a training room my mates can use?”
“Do I have a training room?” Kaatir huffs. “Does a lraxian bleed green?”
Dora blinks and looks over at me with charming confusion on her face. “Um, I don’t know the answer to that.”
Kef me, she’s cute. Ugh. I am in such danger.
Fifty-Eight
DORA
Today is a rather mixed bag.
Waking up with both my mates, a plus. Trying to seduce Bethiah only to get a horn in the nose, a minus. Hearing Bethiah still doesn’t consider me part of her permanent future, a big minus. Deciding that I’m going to use this “favor” Bethiah says she’ll owe me against her? Big plus.
When we stopped by to see Jamef, I pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to seduce Bethiah.”
His grin told me everything I needed to know. That he was absolutely on board with things.
So now it’s my turn. Or it will be, soon. For now, Bethiah is showing me how to operate a blaster. I don’t point out that it looks very similar to an Earth gun, but with a pressure point instead of a trigger. The mechanics are the same, but I pretend to be clueless so Bethiah takes her time and this feels like a big ask. We have target practice in a hold specifically sealed for such things, and Bethiah makes unhappy noises at how bad my aim is.
“You’re closing your eyes when you shoot, fluffit.”
“I’m really not,” I tell her, and then prove myself wrong by trying to shoot the moving circle that’s the “target.” It reminds me of laser pointers used to torment cats back on Earth, except the computer makes a screeching sound of displeasure every time I miss. And I’m missing a lot. “Maybe my subconscious doesn’t want to shoot anything.”
“You’ll never know, because you keep closing your keffing eyes,” she tells me, making a face in my direction.
I want to stick my tongue out at her, but I decide to prove her wrong instead. I lift the blaster, track the target with the tip of the weapon, and then fire—and I closed my eyes again. “Shit. Sorry.”
