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I turn away. I’m more than ready to leave. My fingers find Kalla’s, and we lace them together. He ducks smoothly through the doorframe behind me.
“I can’t believe that bitch painted my cabinets white,” I mutter as I turn on the skimmer.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
KALLA
I knowI’m a dramatic male. My friends mock me for it regularly. Often when I’m presented with the option to act or sit back, I choose action to feed my desire for control. It’s part of the reason I found it so ludicrous that Kaye called herself dramatic for having reservations about our physical relationship. I’m the dramatic one in this matebond, dramatic enough to envision choking out her ex-mate to the point of unconsciousness just to feel a tingle of sick joy.
I deserve an award for controlling myself during our encounter with Kaye’s ex-mate and his replacement female. I desire nothing more than to take that male who hurt her and shake him until his neck snaps. Or, perhaps, pop his eyeballs out…
Maybe I shouldn’t have made a scene while we were trying to exit, but it didn’t sit right with me to leave without hearing him apologize to her. Who am I to demand it? I wonder if Kaye was embarrassed, but I can’t bring myself to regret my decision. I wanted him to know that I noticed his express lack of accountability. I wanted him to know that I’m a male who makes sure to get my way. So what if it was a play to show my powers of intimidation? He deserves to squirm. He deserves to feel bad.
Everything Kaye told me about their relationship dances through my mind, begging me to reap vengeance for the way he caused her pain.
“Kalla, we’re here.”
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the skimmer dipping down toward the next farmhouse over.
“I’ll carry the boy,” I say. He has been steadily snoring in the backseat.
Kaye takes our bag and hops out while I maneuver the heavy youth onto my back. He’s certainly sturdy, even if he hasn’t hit the mating age growth that will fill him out like a grown male.
We enter the home that belongs to Kaye’s friend Frankie. The layout is precisely the same as Kaye’s but the decor inside is much different. It’s decorated with many different styles, some pieces I recognize as one alien style or another. There are framed images in the wall in grayscale of various cities and landscapes. Some of them must be Earth because I see humans in the background. I place Raffa on the sofa, a velvety palette covered in mismatched pillows of lush texture.
When I look up, I realize that Kaye’s eyes are filled with tears.
“Ti’sala,” I breathe, rushing to her side so quickly that I bump my knee on the furniture. “Are you crying over that fool?”
“No, it’s not that,” she murmurs. “It’s Frankie’s place. There’s so much of her here… I can’t stop thinking about her.”
I pull Kaye against me and squeeze her tight. There’s nothing I can do for her friend, and I hate that I can’t fix that pain.
“She has eclectic taste,” I comment.
“Frankie loves to travel… She saves all her money to take trips around the galaxies. Anywhere she can afford to go. She’s someone who loves everything about life. She deserves to wake up, so she can do more, see more…”
I listen as she tells me all about her friend, the one who sleeps in a regen tank onThe Rightful Heir, barely clinging to life. My fingers stroking her hair seems to help calm her as much as it calms me. Apparently, the female took all these images with an Earth camera, the ancient kind that one must develop with chemicals. Kaye recounts Frankie’s love of all cultures, the way she rejoices for the existence of translators so that she can go everywhere. Each item surrounding us was carefully chosen, brought here from other planets.
“She told me she got a translator installed just days after they became available on Earth, back when most humans were afraid that the aliens were trying to control their brains. Apparently, everyone told her she was crazy. But I don’t think so. She’s brave.”
“She’ll recover,” I assure her. “The healers wouldn’t lie to you. They wouldn’t put her in regen if there wasn’t hope.”
“Do you think so?” she sniffs.
“Yes,” I say, even when I can’t be certain. “I’ve seen warriors survive terrible things. I’ve been in regen more than a few times myself. She’ll wake up as if from a dream.”
“Is that how it feels? No pain?”
“No physical pain,” I say. “You can hear some things while under when you’re close to recovery. Mak used to sit by me and tell me what was going on while I was in there. Lalo would visit and tell me how irritatingly reckless I was. And I could hear them.”
“Maybe you were right that I should’ve stayed onThe Heir, then,” she sighs.
“No, I was wrong. You did this for the boy so that he wouldn’t be trapped there, thinking of nothing but war and revenge. It’s for the best because I know what that’s like. I think his sister knows too. That’s why she suggested it.”
She glances over at his sleeping form.
“Let’s go outside,” she whispers. “If we’re going to talk about him.”
